Darn Compassion!
by forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: Ron's too compassionate sometimes; he's struggling as it is, the last thing he needs is a lazy, whingeing flatmate who constantly insults him yet makes him feel…oh who knows? Warning: slashy sex, language and mild angst.
1. No Where Else

Chapter 1 – No Where Else

Another horrific night. Ron walked alone down a darkened street, shouts and fading music behind him as he shivered slightly, digging his hands further into his pockets. Why did he let himself get talked into these incredible misguided nights out with the twins? It was bad enough that they made the worst gay jokes imaginable and scared away any potential guys, but then they had to pair off and leave him without any company for the journey back.

A moan stopped him in his tracks. Turning to the source of the noise, he poked his head into an alley way and squinted in the twilight. It took him a while to recognise the heap against the alley wall, sliding slowly and hilariously drunkenly to the floor.

"Malfoy?" There was no reaction from the pile of robe and bones so the red-head shuffled closer, prodding inquisitively with his foot. A blond head lolled up into the dim light before drooping down again. Yep. Definitely Malfoy. Wow. He hadn't seen Draco that drunk since…well, the last time he'd been drunk had been at the Sixth Year Christmas Party, and he hadn't even been that far gone. Ron still remembered his firewhisky breath on his neck and face as they made out in an empty classroom, clumsy hands and messy kisses as they both swayed almost in time to the distant music penetrating through the door carelessly left ajar.

"Weaaasssaleee?" Pulled from his memories by a far-gone blond, something stirred in the red-head's gut and despite his sober logic warning him, he bent down and helped up the muttering heap. He hadn't been with the Slytherin since the end of sixth year, come to think of it, he hadn't seen the blond at all after the war ended six months ago. Is this where he'd been spending his time? With difficulty, they reached the street and Ron stopped them, venturing.

"Well, where to?" Laughing in a disturbingly uncharacteristically care-free way, almost giggling, Malfoy snorted a few times before leaning hard against his old fuckbuddy and tried to whisper seductively.

"Yours, sssexy!" Biting back a grin, thinking delightedly of how to blackmail the Slytherin later, Ron replied more steadily than he felt.

"No you silly thing," He couldn't resist the endearment Malfoy usually would have hexed him for, "you're way to drunk for-" But the mess had straightened up and half-leapt onto his moving lips, pressing hard as if trying to engulf his face. For a blissful few moments, the Gryffindor was lost in the electrical shocks making him shiver, he could faintly hear the distant music from that Sixth Year Party so long ago; but then the not-quite drunk part of his mind made him pull away. "No, come on-" This time he was slammed up against the wall, the drunk's hands everywhere at once, running through his hair and stroking his face, running down his neck and down his sides. Completely giving up on being sensible, the red-head joined in, pushing back with hungry lips, fingers rubbing against that smooth fabric across Malfoy's back. Turning his head slightly to gain a free corner of his mouth he breathed. "Long time no shag." Groaning, the blond stood even higher on his tiptoes to regain control of the taller's mouth, fingers in the red hair tightening.

"Yours." He repeated, determinedly. That time, the red-head didn't object.

The sun shone fiercely on his face.

"Oh sweet Merlin." His croak made the blond's eyes flicker under closed lids, soon he began groaning too. Gingerly, the ginger sat up, wincing at the pounding in his head as the other turned his face into the pillow away from the light protruding through the thin curtains.

"Turnofftheliii-g-ght." Looking down on his old…his old lover, Ron almost snorted, it was so like Malfoy to re-clothe himself after sex, even when blind drunk. Still, he got up shakily and pulled on some jeans himself, not wanting to be more vulnerable. He heard the bed springs creak and saw the blond stumbling over some discarded clothes, coughing and blinking. Based on the rare occasions they'd wake up together, Ron knew that the Slytherin desperately needed the bathroom.

"Urgh, is this where you live?" The unwanted guest snarled unpleasantly from the hall. Grunting, not even hurt by the remark, Ron sighed, rubbing his face as he pottered to the kitchen. He was so hungry. "Seriously weasel I think my old house elf had better accomo-" Half-throwing a saucepan on the hob, the red-head said forcefully through the stabbing pain in his head.

"Hey! As I remember it, it was you who insisted on coming here!" The blond sank into a chair at the table and almost sighed disdainfully, his voice dry but as venomous as usual.

"Yeah, because that sounds like something I'd do, kidnap you to your own stink-hole and-" Ron turned to glare as he growled warningly.

"I'm not in the mood Malfoy." The blond, eyes closed, merely made a face as he rubbed his forehead. Ron turned back to the stove and began heating up some oil.

"Got any potion?" The cook didn't reply as he rummaged through the fridge for eggs and bacon until a low whining noise forced him to sigh and snap.

"No, just drink some water and eat some eggs-."

"Potion!" If he wasn't so hung over and exhausted the red-head would have laughed at the childish shout. Lips twisting angrily the cook threw some ingredients into the pan, poured two glasses of water and set one down roughly in front of the moody blond. Arms crossed and forehead creased the faux-toddler looked like he was about to argue but the stressed mother-figure had already turned back to the hob and was now tossing the pan, which was smelling quite appetising. The two didn't speak as they ate, though Malfoy made a few disgusted faces as he picked at the food he did actually eat some of it.

"What's that?" Ron felt his shoulders tense as the blond spoke again, his voice having regained its usual strength. The Slytherin had spotted a delicate silver bracelet next to some keys on a little tray on the table and felt his stomach turn at the thought of sitting at the same table as that bushy-haired freak. "Tell me this isn't the mudblood's!" Cracking, the blue eyes flared as he stood abruptly, raising a shaking hand and pointing to the door and yelling.

"Get out!" The blond sat up straighter, genuinely stunned but the sudden order.

"What?"

"You heard me, get out!"

"No! No I won't leave!" This confused Ron more than any insult or attempt to undermine him. Draco never liked being told what to do, but he was insisting a bit too hard. Why did he even want to stay? He'd already got what he'd come for. The blond was going on, almost speaking to himself. "You can't make me!" Ron snarled, of course he could! It was his flat!

"Go! I-" He was stopped by the other's expression. Then the tears. Confusion and fear fought in his chest; Draco wasn't crying, he didn't cry, he never cried! He was withdrawn and depressed at times and there had been an occasion when he hadn't resisted Ron's attempt to hug him. But, this…there had never been anything like this. Clear droplets of pain were bubbling and arrowing down the blond's cheeks in quick succession as the voice, that familiar voice began to break.

"The thing is…I've, got, nowhere else to go." Ron couldn't forget everything that had come before, the insults and disregard for himself; he shouldn't…he couldn't just…Without even ordering it to, his body took him over to the collapsed figure and pulled it close. Wrapping his strong arms around the shaking man, Ron knew that he was probably making a big mistake. But fuck it; he just couldn't kick him out like this. He could help an old boyfr… an old lover out, if only for a while. He cooed in hushed tones as he rocked them slightly to and fro.

"It's ok, you can stay with me. Shhh, it's ok, you can stay with me. It's ok, sshhh, I'll let you stay…"


	2. Circle of Hell

Chapter 2 – Circle of Hell

He was woken by hushed laughter; as soon as he was fully awake, he groaned. It wasn't even laughter; it was giggling and drunken cackling. Great. Another one night stand. Did drink completely wipe his memory? No, the stupid Slytherin could always remember that he lived here now, just not that there was someone else living there too. Or maybe he just didn't care. Lighting the candles in the room fiercely, making them burn extra brightly, Ron glowered at the men leaning onto each other. Well, he thought as he eyed them, Draco was leaning on the stranger a lot heavier; it was always like that. They always took advantage of him in his drunken state, well, the blond always wanted them to. It was hard to resist him. The pleading look he was giving Ron now would have worked had he been in a better mood. But not tonight. Godric knows there had been other nights when he'd sighed and turned over, trying to block out the obvious and infuriating sounds coming from the bedroom, his bedroom; but not tonight.

By now the other man had worked it out and was looking very embarrassed, not nearly as drunken as his drinking partner. He mouthed an apology which Ron waved away as the worse-for-wear blond tried to pull himself higher and make a good argument. He opened his mouth but the rush of air to his lungs upset his stomach and he gagged a little. Sighing, his flatmate stood and took him off the now fairly awkward stranger who quickly thanked the bleary blond for the drink and half-fled out of the door. The weary carer reached over and shut the door with one long arm, locking it and then turning to half-carry the drunkard to the bathroom made eye contact with said drunkard who said angrily.

"What are you doing?" Well, at least that's what he attempted to say, Ron was so used to his drunken slurs that he could figure out almost anything the blond said whilst at any stage of intoxication. Anger growing, he didn't even bother replying as he lifted the blond's arm and helped him to the bathroom, they just made it. The blond's body doubled over with the force of his vomiting. Lip curling with tired disgust at his flatmate's state and the frequency that he found himself in the role as weary carer, Ron sighed heavily. Something had to change. Wiping his mouth, eyes more alert and his body less unstable the Slytherin managed to look insulted at Ron's angry glare. He answered the red-head's fierce eyes with an indignant if still slurred speech.

"What? Don't look at me like that! He was hot! You would have done the same…"

"No, I wouldn't have."

"Yeah cos you're a fucking loser." Getting up from his crouching position Ron turned and replied half-heartedly as he walked away from the drunk who was struggling up after him.

"Says the man with no job who's living on someone else's sofa and is drunk all day every day, sleeping with anyone who even loo-" Draco exploded suddenly, lunging out of the bathroom and grabbing the red-head's arm.

"You know why I have to drown my sorrows? Because I'm stuck with you!" Ron flung around to face him, anger fading as he allowed himself to be shaken roughly by a half-hysterical Draco. "You know why I have to sleep with any guy who notices me? Because anything is better than hanging around here with the crappest, most boring bastard I've ever had the misfortune to fuck!" Almost pitching forward with the strength of his tirade, he snapped his arm away from Ron's instinctual grab and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door.

For a few moments, Ron stood swaying slightly from the blows. They shouldn't get to him, the words… Draco had always been a mean drunk and he had always said afterwards that he hadn't meant any of the things he said. But whenever Ron was being screamed at with that disgusted face glaring at him, he knew he could never truly convince himself that Draco didn't mean every word. Eventually, he turned away; the sofa was still warm.

It was three months since Ron had taken pity on his old lover and allowed him to stay; nothing much had changed since the first week. Draco sat and drank and complained and rearranged furniture and spent any stashed money of Ron's he could find and drank and went out dancing and didn't come back until morning and drank and complained and brought back strangers and generally was an extreme burden.

Ron knew that things had been difficult, that his new flatmate had no inheritance, since all Death Eater assets had been seized by the Ministry after the War, and no work ethic; that he had nightmares and ate little and sometimes would stare into the distance looking as if he was draining away. But enough was enough. The trouble was that he didn't know how to breach the subject; any mention of a job or not contributing only upset Draco and it always ended up with Ron comforting the tearful man. He never did take failure well and now he was trapped in a vicious cycle. The red-head stared at the ceiling, groaning to himself for having accidently being caught at the centre of that circle of Hell.

Everyone he knew constantly told him to kick the flatmate out and sometimes he would get riled by their words and defend him, others times he would be inspired and march over to the blond to do it when one look would dissipate all the anger and he never said it. The others couldn't understand because they couldn't see what he could see; the Slytherin had only let him in and so only he could understand, only he could be tricked time and time again.

And there had been good times too; not just the sex, which was incredible whenever it happened, but the quiet moments when they simply were existing in the same small space. Draco would read newspapers whilst Ron would do paperwork or they'd place chess or have a quiet drink, reminiscing. They could be amiable and comfortable, not just argumentative and bitter. At some point in his musings he fell asleep.

Jumping awake, Ron felt himself sliding off the narrow sofa and flailed wildly before landing heavily on his side. Groaning, Ron lay on the rough carpet, feeling it rub against his cheek and bare chest. A loud knocking startled him and he jumped up, stumbling to the door, blinking furiously. It was only when he was looking at a surprised Hermione that he remembered he was topless; luckily, she was laughing as he ushered her in embarrassedly.

"Well that's something I haven't seen in a while!" He grumbled as he pottered around making tea before venturing cautiously into the bedroom to grab a T-shirt. Thankfully, the philanderer had gone. Ron mused as he pulled off his pyjama bottoms and stepped into some jeans, Draco always was so quiet when he moved around sometimes he could walk past a sleeping Ron several times without the slumberer ever waking. When he came back and sat down he found that his friend had already poured the tea and was looking at him worriedly.

"Ron, I'm worried about you and…your situation." She steamrolled over his unrealised protest. "And don't you dare pull any of that 'it's only for a bit' line you've been using on your family! Don't forget that I'm the only one who knows what he's _really _been contributing-"

"Ok, ok!" He interrupted her loudly, not wanting her to say it out loud. Sighing, he ran a hand through his mussy hair. It was true that although everyone knew about his sexuality, only Hermione knew that he and Draco had ever…well, done anything. He wanted to keep it that way. Looking him up and down his ex sighed, shaking his arm gently as she said tiredly.

"Oh Ron! Ever since he's moved in you've just been getting more and more grief, why have you let it go on like this?"

"Well you know, beats being alone." He didn't even try to joke, eyes downcast suddenly; he couldn't bear to see her pity. They'd remained close friends after their break-up, neither of their hearts truly in it; both really cared for the other deeply and had initially thought themselves in love but had soon found out that they really weren't. After the war Hermione had found that sharing a living space with Ron was a lot more annoying than just having meals and studying together and Ron just couldn't muster up as much intensity and passion in their lovemaking as he could when sleeping with guys, especially… Well, he and Hermione both knew who he liked sleeping with the most, it had been the main reason they'd broken up; to that day she was the only person who knew about his secret rendezvous with that particular Slytherin in 6th Year.

Smiling thinly, Hermione changed the subject and they chatted happily for a good hour before they were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Both looked up and saw an unusually fresh-faced Malfoy staring at them warily. Although he'd grown to accept Hermione's presence around the flat without insult, he knew that they'd once been an item and always suspected the two of them were talking about him, her trying to convince Ron to kick him out. Neither blamed him for that suspicion as it was almost always right. Theatrically, the witch checked her watch and shrugged at the red-head apologetically, getting up and hugging him whilst saying a little loudly.

"Just think about what I said, won't you?"

"Which bit? You do talk an awful lot!" He was trying to keep his voice light to diffuse any suspicion the flatmate may have from Hermione's loaded parting shot. She tilted her head, eyebrow raised, before waving goodbye and leaving. After an awkward pause, Draco rocked on his heels before offering in a slightly high-pitched voice.

"Foot massage?"


	3. Money, Money, Money

Chapter 3 – Money, Money, Money

The darkness curled around his chest tighter and tighter, a dark wind pressing cold against his closed eyelids. Half-choking, Draco tried to bat the evil force away with his bare hands, his wand lost a long time ago. The world was beginning to lift off him; he felt life slipping through his fingers, panic fading as hopelessness flooded through his limp body. No, he couldn't give up! No!

Blinking, he opened his eyes slowly and moved his tongue around to get rid of that morning taste from his mouth. He tried to ignore the nightmare he'd just had; he hadn't had that particular one in a while and he didn't want to think that those dark days were returning. Shifting slightly he realised that he was lying on the sofa, how had he ended up there? The memory came back and made him smirk a little as he remembered the Gryffindor's heat beneath him; they'd clung to each other, hands leisurely wandering up and down their bodies before they'd stilled and simply fallen asleep. He raised his head and sat up a bit before realising that it wasn't morning after all, turning his head he saw that the faint light was coming from a single candle on the kitchen table. With his head just above the back of the sofa he could see a slumped, red-headed figure sitting at the table surrounded by papers.

Narrowing his eyes the sleepy blond could see large hands almost obscuring the fiery locks, the hunched shoulders tense before the figure sat back and looked down on the papers again, fatigue and frustration creased into his face. A heavy, despondent sigh pulled at the voyeur's gut and he knew that the red-head wasn't fretting about something to do with work; he was sorting through the bills and accounts and obviously not liking what he was seeing. The breadwinner put a hand under some papers and withdrew his wand to perform some arithmetic spells, the bags under his eyes looking darker in the scarce light. How had Weasel become so worn and weary looking? When had this happened? For a few minutes, the blond simply watched from afar, taking in the drooping shoulders and dull eyes; his…his, Ron, Ron was suffering. And he hadn't even seen it.

Guilt began to scratch at his belly. How long had it been since he'd moved in? It must have been more than a few weeks now. He had told himself that it was only going to be a temporary solution, only until he got back on his feet. The Ministry had seized all of his family's possessions at the end of the War, during the massive raid of all Death Eater properties; they were being processed and he had been assured that soon the objects deemed untainted by Dark Magic would be returned as well as the Manor. He should have expected the Ministry to keep him waiting, though he had never believed that he would still be wallowing in the poky little flat months later. The truth was he had no idea where to start. Even with some of his heirlooms returned and being able to return home, he still wouldn't have a lot of money; he wouldn't work anywhere but in the Ministry, as a high-ranking Minister. His father was supposed to arrange a shoe-in so he could advance quickly but his father was dead, having been killed in the Final Battle. Now without that contact, he'd have to start at the bottom, the very thought made him feel sick. But what else was there? Although his family was extensive all of them were either dead, in prison or as poor as he was. Focusing back on his…his flatmate, he felt ashamed at hiding behind such empty excuses when the red-head was working so hard and still struggling, mainly because of himself, he couldn't help but thinking. Quietly, he lay back down on the sofa and promised himself, and the wilting figure behind him, that in the morning he'd start to do better. Beginning with a job.

…

True to himself, the blond opened the paper that morning to the employment section, trying not to cringe as he read over the advertisements. Most of them sounded horrendous: Potions Master's Assistant, Expert Gnome Exterminator, - there was even an advert for a wanted babysitter. Gods, imagine him trying to control a bunch of unruly exploding kids! Twisting his mouth he circled a few of the less humiliating sounding jobs and reluctantly noted down the addresses in his diary. Pausing in his writing, he glanced at the half-finished coffee across from him on the table, it had been left by a tired and harassed-looking red-head barely an hour before. Ashamed of finally realising how much of a burden he was, Draco had kept his eyes squeezed shut as the Assistant Editor to Quidditch Weekly had stumbled around getting ready having hardly getting any sleep the night before. Once he'd finally hurried out of the door, the ex-Slytherin had uncurled stiffly and guiltily, gritting his teeth and forcing himself up. Now, looking at that stone cold half-cup of coffee, it just seemed to sum everything up. A small detail like that he would have missed the day before, but now, the whole flat was full of reminders of his incompetence: a sink full of dirty dishes, bare cupboards, badly sewn together clothes strewn on the floor, and amongst the general disorder of the house, an empty pot of powder by the fireplace. Oh Gods, they didn't even have enough money to Floo! How expensive was that stuff anyway? He didn't even know if it was ridiculously cheap or outrageously expensive, he'd never had to know. Sighing, he rubbed his face with his palm vigorously. It was time he learnt things like that. He needed to get a placement, and fast. Looking at the one with interviews that day, he sighed, collected the hastily written qualifications and got his coat.

Gritting his teeth he bowed his head slightly and entered the shabby-looking shop. He hadn't told anyone about this, well, the only person he could really tell was Ron and he didn't want to tell him. Part of the reason was shame and the other part was a mixture of nervousness and fear of failure. At least if it all went wrong no one would know but him. The job was… as a… shop assistant. Hopefully more painful to say than do. The grumpy owner thankfully didn't comment on his status, if he even knew who he was, and grunted some instructions; the work was mostly restocking, organising the store room, looking over the books, boring, secretarial stuff. But Draco did it all with a tight jaw and stiff shoulders; it was something he could do, and do well, even though every minute tortured him with its monotony and insulting simplicity. Many times he felt pride shake his hands and push angry curses and shouts of resignation out of his throat but he managed to control himself. No, he must do this, he had to at least finish; he could do it, he could do it…

Another blessing was that no one he knew turned up to the antique shop, which was a miracle because he happened to know by name a lot of little old ladies who would have loved some of the terrible furniture they sold. The day didn't go nearly as fast he would have liked, not helped by his constant clock-watching, but finally, after a long day of hard graft he wiped his forehead with his now ruined sleeve and went to the supervisor for his earnings. Without an expression, the fat man put a few coins into his outstretched hand. A few coins, less than five galleons… Suddenly enflamed with indignation and unable to contain his outrage, the Malfoy ranted in vain for a few minutes before shouting his resignation and storming away. The insolence! He was a Malfoy! He was above this, way above this!

It was only when he was standing outside his favourite restaurant, realising that his day's pay wouldn't buy him one meal that he felt like his reaction hadn't been the best. He stood for a while, thoughts tumbling around inside his head. What to do, what to do… He felt numb as his mind struggled to find a solitary idea to help.

Face animating suddenly, he remembered his elderly great-aunt. Dear old Aunt Gladys. She was a cold-hearted old witch and lived in Holland, but she was filthy rich and cared deeply about the family name. Once she heard about his situation she would agree – although begrudgingly – to give him some allowance. Pleased with himself for thinking of that connection, he smiled. Someone spoke right behind him and he jumped, twisting round trying to break out of the fogginess that had clouded his vision. It was Ron. Without knowing it he'd returned to the flat. Although startled, he didn't smother the grin on his face, allowing his flatmate to notice and comment on it. Looking straight in the goofy Griffyindor's eye, he smiled a little deeper, relief welling up and feeling close to that tentative smile across those full lips, kissed them tenderly. His part-time lover looked surprised but not displeased and returned the gesture, murmuring softly.

"Ok, who's Cheering Charm misfired?" This line somehow made him even happier, which was ridiculous; when had he enjoyed the red-head's terrible jokes? The blond kissed his lover again and snorted.

"Very funny. Thought of it yourself did you?" Blue eyes shone brighter than they had in days.

"Of course, are you impressed?" The blond just smiled knowingly. Everything was going to be fine.


End file.
